Staccato

I know you believe you’re a river

I know you believe your soul is fluid

and that when life turns up the heat,

you’d only change states

and float in the air and collect yourself back

into the form you think you’re made to be when the temperature feels like home

the parts of you gone all over the place, will fall back together

that your fear will melt and collect to pure water

cleansing you, clarifying for you visions you hold

but let me tell, you’ll not change states

 

sometimes,

you’ll not escape the process,

your positive-talk-amour would not hold back the darts

and your fear would pierce through you and be like an oar

in the hand of the devil

and he would pretend to have reached the core of you

and agitate your soul, from the bed

or like the head pan of a galamseyer

erode the foundations of your strength

cut you off from your source

and change your course

and make you look muddy, feel muddy and see  muddy

like Pra and Ankobra and Oti,

 

when that happens

when you don’t change states

and you have to fight with your present flow

be ok.

 

be ok, because rivers flow in staccato,

so quick we don’t see the breaks

until things get caught up in them, or they behind things

but they flow anyway,

in spite of the staccato.

 

_SBM.

 

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